


I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hell, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: When Dean returns from Hell he barely remembers a thing, but slowly, his memories of the pit come back to haunt him. When he falls into a sleep he can't awake from, Sam has to venture into his subconscious, and learn everything abut what happened to his brother in Hell. Mostly Gen, Season 4, graphic depictions of violence and torture.





	I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

It started slowly, little bits of time where Dean seemed to zone out, to just go away for a second while they were talking. Then, the nightmares started.

 

Nightmares weren’t something new for the brothers. Both of them had bad dreams since they were children, first from the trauma of losing their mother, then from all the trauma of learning about and fighting the supernatural. They even had routines to wake each other up, to calm each other down. This was just part of their lives. But these recent nightmares were different. Dean was both louder in his screams and more strangled. Sam was afraid the cops were going to be called to their little motel room a few times because of the ungodly noises his brother was making in his sleep. And it was getting worse.

 

When Dean came back from hell, he told Sam he didn’t remember a thing. This was partially a lie, Sam knew. He could see some kind of deep haunting on Dean’s face when he thought Sam wasn’t looking. Maybe he didn’t remember everything, but there was a something, something Dean was using every ounce of strength to repress. And if Dean Winchester, the master of suppression, was having a hard time repressing something, that thing was huge.

 

As the weeks went on it became clearer that either Dean wasn’t able to repress it as well, or he was remembering more about the pit.

 

Sam couldn’t even try to wrap his mind around what Dean must have experienced down there. And as much as he wished his brother would open up about the experience, he also dreaded hearing what Dean had been through. His heart ached for his brother.

 

They were in the car on the way back from a hunt one day when Dean just drifted slowly off the road, narrowly missing a sign, and only getting control back when Baby hit a small rock and jostled them  like an earthquake. Dean swore up a storm, but then went quiet when Sam asked him what happened. Tossing out an excuse of being tired and throwing Sam the keys without looking him in the eye. Dean didn’t even check to make sure the car was ok, and that is when Sam got really worried.

 

Sam decided on a motel, closer than he had originally planned, and they checked in without a word. Dean looked haggard, and dropped his duffel on the bed closest to the door in a huff.

 

‘Get some sleep man, you look like hell.’

‘Right back at you,’ Dean said with a crooked smile, but there was no life in it.

Sam watched him lean up against the headboard and start to take his shoes off, pausing to turn on the TV. Then rummaging in his bag for the trusty bottle.

He tried not to notice his brothers shaking hands unscrewing the cap of the whisky.

He was getting increasingly upset with the amount Dean was drinking. And his brother seemed to have no shame. Ordering shots at a restaurant during lunch time, or sneaking a few sips from his flask in the morning before they left. He knew it was one way Dean coped, hell, it was how Sam coped at times too. But in the last few days, he hadn’t seen his brother sober for a second. How could they continue to work, how could he keep letting Dean drive when he was constantly getting trashed? The more he thought about it, the more fed up he became.

 

‘We gonna talk about what happened on the road back there?’ Sam tread softly, making his voice calm and quiet with the question.

‘C’mon Sammy I just got a bit sleepy, stop making it something it isn’t.’

‘Dean you almost crashed the car, and you weren’t sleeping.’

‘Fuck off Sammy, why do you have to make every conversation lately some therapist session.’ Dean’s tone tried to be angry, but he just sounded tired.

‘Fine, you don't want to talk, thats fine, but you're not driving until you do.’ Sam grabbed the keys off the nightstand and put them roughly into his pocket. He was frustrated and this was not helping, he knew. Putting Dean into a corner would just make it worse. But he wasn’t about to live in fear of them both dying next time Dean zoned out while driving.

‘Go to sleep Sam.’ Dean snapped, taking a long pull straight from the bottle.

 

It was cold in the room and Sam got under the covers fully clothed. He mentally made a plan to not go on the next hunt until Dean sorted himself out. He was getting more and more worried about his brother handling all the weapons their job required. He kept going over plans in his head to get Dean to open up, until he started to get exhausted, and sleep crept over him. His sore muscles and bruises from the last hunt left him tired as well, and the bed, even though a bit hard, felt so good.

 

Sam woke quickly, without movement, like he was trained to do his whole life. Going from dead asleep to alert enough to use a weapon in less than a second. He could hear Dean, having another nightmare.

 

Hurt welled up in his chest as he listened, weighing the danger of waking Dean up, with the danger of not.

 

The TV had been turned off and the room was dark, lit only from the streetlights outside shining through the worn curtain. Dean hadn’t even gotten under the covers, he lay sprawled on top, in only his undershirt and jeans, bare feet, and the bottle open and only ¼ full next to the bed on the floor.

‘Jesus’ was Sam’s only thought.

He threw back his own covers and quietly sat up, aching with every new noise Dean made.

At first it was small whimpers, but now it sounded like he was choking, he struggled for each breath and Sam could see wet tears rolling down the side of his face. When the first guttural scream started Sam knew he needed to wake his brother up.

 

Waking up a trained hunter was never easy. Sam knew Dean had at least his knife under his pillow and his gun within reach. And even as drunk as he was, Dean could probably kill three men before he fully woke up. Especially with all the stress he was going through now.

Sam started by slowly saying his brothers name, each call louder and more commanding than the last. He then firmly placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder and started shaking lightly. Keeping his whole body tense for any quick movement.

But Dean just sighed and opened his eyes, looking grateful to Sam for taking him out of the dream. Sam watched his brother take a few seconds to get his bearings. He could almost see Dean place where they were, how they got here, if they were safe. It took him much longer than normal.

‘You are ok.’ Sam made it a statement rather than a question.

‘Shhhit.’ Dean whispered sitting up and holding his head in his hand. His white t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he shivered a little in the cool room as he sat up.

‘Sorry Sammy, I am good now.’ he waved Sam away with a hand, and reached for the bottle in the same gesture. Trying not to notice the pained look on Sam’s face as he sat back on his own bed.

‘Dean maybe you should drink some water.’

‘Yeah ok,’ he sounded defeated.

 

Sam got up and walked to the little table, pulling the cup out of the plastic packaging and filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

 

Dean didn’t move, gesturing Sam put the water on the nightstand, cradling the bottle in one hand, while still holding his head in the other. Sam sat down expectantly, looking blankly away from him, ready for Dean to start talking. He knew his brother, and now was the time when he would be ready to say something, if he was ever ready.

They sat for a long time in silence, Sam patiently waiting, watching his brother take small sips of whisky out of the corner of his eye. He looked like he was trying to drown something within him. The false dawn light peeked through the window in a navy haze and they could hear Dean’s watch faintly ticking in the silence. Crickets chirped restlessly far away and finally Dean lifted his head. He handed the bottle to Sam like they had been passing it back and forth all night. There wasn’t much left, but Sam swirled it around in the bottom and took a large mouthful, feeling that this was the only way he could take the alcohol away from his brother.

‘At first, I didn’t, um, remember.’ Dean’s voice was barely a breath, but Sam could still hear him slurring his words drunkenly. He froze, not wanting to break the tension of Dean finally talking.

‘But it’s comin back Sammy, I can feel it, I can sometimes..sometimes I can see it.’

‘Hell?’ Sam asked quietly.

‘Hell.’

A moment passed slowly, both of them steadily breathing into the humid space between them.

Sam could feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, he hurt so badly for his brother, he would give anything to take the pain away from him. And at the same time he was terrified, he didn’t know if his brother could ever get better. He had no idea what Dean had been through.

‘What can I do to help you?’ he could hear the despair in his own voice. And he instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Dean sighed then finally looked at Sam full in the face and pulled himself, with some effort, back together. Then he smiled.

‘Stop bogarting that bottle for one!’

To anyone else, it would have looked like the old Dean, his face almost childlike in his humor. But Sam could see the need, and he knew there would be no more talking tonight.

‘Not until you drink that water.’ Sam gestured to the cup on the nightstand.

Dean grabbed it and gulped in down in two swallows.

‘There mom, ya’ happy?’ He smiled that fake smile again and reached out for the bottle.

 

They were both able to get another two hours or so of much needed sleep before the sun came in the window and prod them awake. Their original plans had them entering the Nebraska border by this evening, but now Sam didn’t think they could make it without driving nonstop. And since he wasn’t about to let Dean drive again, he meant what he said the night before, they would have to take it easy. He hoped Dean would sleep a bit more in the car today. As tired as Sam was, Dean had been running on very little, mostly black-out sleep for almost five days now.

They spoke mostly in grunts and gestures in the morning, neither of them needing words for their usual routine. Dean gargling water while he brushed his teeth, Sam stretching, or doing a few quick push-ups. Sam felt sore and fatigued, but let Dean take the first shower. He must have been nursing a killer hangover, but made no move to complain. Maybe he was still happily drunk.

 

Sam started to brew some coffee in the tiny coffee maker. He both hated and loved the small coffee stands in most motels. The life of tiny and single use things that they had come to be familiar with no matter what town they were staying in.  Sometimes Sam had a quick pang of loss when he thought about owning his own coffee maker, buying bars of soap at the store, or having a cart full of groceries to take to his imaginary home. But he tried not to let the thoughts overwhelm him, cause those thoughts led to memories of college life, of love, of Jess.

He heard a crash from the small bathroom. He had yanked open the door before he even knew he was moving, ‘you ok?!’

 

He found his brother hunched over, clutching his chest and throat like he was choking. The little mirror in the bathroom was shattered and blood was starting to run from Dean’s hand. He sounded like he was choking on a scream and his face was twisted in pain. ‘Dean!’ Sam yelled breathlessly and grabbed his convulsing brother, guiding him in jerky steps to to lay him on the bed. Dean’s eyes were open, but he started the same shakey scream he had in his nightmares for the past few weeks. When he could catch his breath he started to yell Sam’s name.

Sam didn't know what to do, he wanted to wake Dean up in the way he always had, but he wasn't asleep this time. He couldn't pull Dean out of whatever waking dream he was having. 

‘Sammy! Sammy!’ his voice was strained and yelling like Sam was far away. His eyes wildly looking around for something that was not there.

Dean grabbed his head like he was trying to keep it from splitting and the convulsions kept coming in waves. Sam tried to hold him down, but gave up after Dean’s flailing elbow connected with his lip and he tasted blood. He stood frozen, just watching Dean convulse, each breath taking in less and less air through strangled sobs and screams. He couldn't figure out what was happening to his brother, he just wanted it to stop. 

Sam finally went for the phone. He knew doctors couldn’t fix what was happening, and they mostly avoided ambulances at all costs, but Dean couldn’t breathe. There was no other choice than to dial 911 and wait for a doctor with a syringe full of relief to put Dean out. 

Sam’s hand was on the receiver of the motel telephone when Dean finally drew a deep breath, and went suddenly, and completely, limp. He slammed the phone back down and sat Dean’s head on his lap, freely crying, but checking Dean's pulse and breathing. His mind took him back to that moment he found his dad in the hospital, so clearly dead, feeling like a helpless child.

He looked into Dean’s half open eyes and saw nothing. Dean just wasn’t there.

‘Dean?!’ He shook his brother, wiping the tears on the sides of his face. He was breathing and his pulse was slowing, but he looked so...dead. 

‘Dean...Dean?’  He was holding Dean’s body, but his brother was someplace else. Sam couldn't help but having a flashback of Dean dying, the blood raked down his chest from invisible claws, and he had to reassure himself that it was not happening again. He felt tight and panicked, not daring to take any breaths until he knew Dean was ok.

Sam decided quickly on a plan, grabbed the phone and called Bobby.

‘Bobby, its Sam, there is something wrong with Dean.’ he said it in one breath, barely waiting for Bobby to finish saying hello.

‘Sam? What is it?’ Bobby was all business when he heard the desperation in Sam’s voice’

‘He won’t wake up, he said last night that he was starting to remember, you know, and he had some kind of seizure this morning, but he was awake, and now, he just passed out, I mean he is not asleep and his eyes are open, but he just isn’t-’

‘Ok Sam, it’s going to be ok, listen to me-’ Bobby reluctantly took on a more authoritative tone, one he always had to use to get the boys to cooperate when they were in a panic. He didn’t like it, but the way they were raised--shouting orders always worked better to get them moving than a comforting tone.

Bobby explained the steps to Sam of checking if Dean’s pupils were reactive, checking his pulse, going through all the simple medical knowledge Bobby had picked up over the years.

‘Well good news is that it doesn’t seem like he is hurting, or has any kind of serious brain damage. Just keep him comfortable, I will grab some books and be there as soon as I can.’

Sam told him the name of the motel and town, and Bobby said he could make it in ten hours. He gave him instructions on what to do and to call him if anything changed. He also gave Sam some research to look into. He didn’t think any of it would pan out, but he needed to keep Sam busy until he got there.

Sam put down the phone and wiped his face on his sleeve, then he grabbed some clothes from Dean’s bag and started to dress him. Dean would want to be dressed.

Fortunately for them both, Sam had some experience dressing a dead body, and while Dean wasn’t dead, he might as well have been. He wasn't moving and his body was heavy as Sam shuffled him into some clothes. It's not like this was new territory for them, injuries were frequent in their line of work, and helping each other dress was commonplace. Sam moved him around like a doll while putting his arms though shirt sleeves, his feet in jeans and socks. He stopped occasionally to make sure Dean was still breathing, and to check his pulse. Dressing his brother took much longer than expected, but he wanted to make sure he was comfortable, first and foremost. He then grabbed his laptop from the nightstand started to research.

 

The minutes ticked by like hours, every time Sam would get engrossed in a lead, he would snap out of it quickly to check on his brother again. He couldn’t help but wonder where Dean’s mind was at. Was it stuck in some terrible nightmare about the pit? Was he just sleeping peacefully, finally getting some relief? Sam doubted it could be anything so good, that is just not how their lives worked.

He started with medical websites, reading up everything he could about comas, or any type of disorder that could make people sleep and not wake up. He went through brain disorders, vegetative states, even certain diseases. He would occasionally check his brothers pulse, make sure he didn’t have a fever, anything that could give him clues as to what was going on.

 

How many times had they sat vigil at each others bedside while one of them were sick, hurt, or worse? There was an ugly grey familiarity to Sam's panicky chest that he didn't like much at all. 

When all the medical leads were exhausted he moved on to more probable ones. He started with things easy to check, like a hex bag from a witch that could have cursed him. Sam was thorough, he even sliced open each mattress, unscrewed the radiator cover from the wall, pushed up each ceiling tile. He wanted to be 100% certain that this wasn’t some type of curse, even though it didn’t feel like it, in his gut. When the room was clear, he started to do some more magical research about sleep. He went through all the lore he could find on any creature that caused sleep, Djinn, certain gods, archaic things from countries that he probably couldn’t find on a map. He periodically refilled his coffee cup, the paper getting more soggy and stained with each new cup. He checked the time constantly, wondering when Bobby would show up.

The sun moved across the sky as he worked, slowly settling into bright noon, then dipping down the horizon sleepily. Sam tried to focus, tonguing his swollen lip and organizing his thoughts into what he had to do next. Keeping the worry at bay with all his willpower. 

He then started to read up on Hell, thinking maybe if he could get some kind of idea about what went on down there, he could figure out what Dean was going through.

Half of him wished he would have pushed Dean to talk about it more. The only things he ever learned from his brother about the pit was that he couldn’t "describe it, and it was horrible, so why even try." The other half of him wondered if he would have pushed Dean, then maybe it would have just been worse. 

The more he read about Hell the more he got sick, there was a part of him that never wanted to know what his brother went through, and the illustrations he was finding, depicting various forms of torture just intensified that. He closed his laptop and put his head in his hands, wondering vaguely if there was any beer in the motel fridge. He didn’t think they had brought in any from the car last night. He felt sick to his stomach, exhausted and out of options. Just when he started rummaging through Dean’s duffel to see if he had any more whisky, he heard a truck pull up.

Bobby was early, of course, he could really make time if he had to, and it helped that he knew almost every cop along the route, he had quite the reputation for helping the locals by now.

He walked in with a huff and dropped a stack of old books onto the tiny motel table.

‘More in the truck’ he gestured to Sam with his chin. And he started organizing the books into stacks, then going to Dean and checking him. 

Sam pulled open the passenger side door and almost got barreled down by the books stacked up in the seat. There were at least 50 and they were all big and heavy. Sam wondered how Bobby managed to gather everything they needed in such a short amount of time. Bobby heard him fumble and yelled, ‘You be careful, there are some books in there worth more than you!’

Sam half smiled, and felt a real relief that Bobby was here, his gruff optimism and calm demeanor always made any crisis seem a bit more bearable.

Bobby asked how Dean was doing, did another cursory check of his pupils, his pulse, asked some questions about Dean's behavior over the last few days. Sam tried to answer without emotion, but it was such a relief to see Bobby, he felt all the words pouring out of him at a rate he didn’t anticipate.

He told Bobby everything that happened with the car last night, with Dean blanking out, and then started telling Bobby what research he had been doing.

Bobby listened carefully, his expression thoughtful and just a bit grim.

‘Good, seems like you were thorough, so let’s take a look and see if we can find anything in these here books.’

He pointed to the stacks on the table. ‘Everything I could find about Hell, more medical books, lore about sleep and comas, and psychology books and PTSD.’

‘PTSD? Shit, I-’ For some reason that never even crossed Sam’s mind. They were so stuck in this world of magic and monsters, he never even thought of some general psychological trauma. And with all they had been through, what the hell could have made Dean Winchester have a mental break? He shuddered at the thought.

‘Why don’t I start there, you go for the lore, since you’ve had a head start, I think you will be quicker.’ The way Bobby dismissed Sam, made him think the older man already knew the answer, and was biding his time for some reason. But Sam trusted him completely, and knew if there was something he needed time to figure out, Sam might as well let him to it.

‘Ah, almost forgot’ Bobby reached into his bag a pulled out a six pack. Sam smiled and settled down with a beer, opening the first book in the stack and starting to skim with the long familiar expertise of someone who has done this for years.

Hours went by, the sun slowly creeping down the horizon casting tiny flecks of light through the motel curtain. They would occasionally read passages to each other out of the books they were reading, dismissing one thing, or taking a small note about another for later reference. They heard people come and go outside the motel, and the vague sound of the highway dimmed as night fell. Bobby was focused and thoughtful, and the creeping feeling that he was holding something back just grew. Sam’s head hurt, he was hungry enough for his stomach to start protesting, and he still felt like he didn’t have any answers.

‘Dream root?’ he said when he stumbled upon the page. African dream root was used to access and sometimes even control someone's dreams. They had learned about the stuff a few years ago when a young man named Jeremy Frost had used the root to step into people's dreams and control them. Bobby was very familiar because he had been the one in a coma then, and Sam and Dean had to go inside of his head to save him.

‘I think we need to save that for if we are out of other options. Don’t want to go messing in Dean’s head if we don’t have to.’

‘Maybe you are right but, with this we could at least see what’s going on in his head, if he is really just sleeping, or maybe nothing if he really is in some kind of coma.’

‘Like I said, should be last resort, but let’s keep it in mind.’

They moved on and switched stacks of books, Sam dreading the time where he had to look at more books about Hell.

After a while he decided to grab some food, he was sick of hearing his stomach rumble and he had to get out of the stuffy motel room for a minute.

He checked on his brother one more time, no change.

He poured some tap water into his brothers mouth, hoping this waking sleep wouldn’t last much longer, else Dean would become dehydrated fast. Then grabbed the keys and drove for a while, just thinking.

 

He hated to be away, but Bobby was there and he knew he would call if something changed. Sam’s head was filled with information about PTSD and his heart sank. All this research and what if it was just some type of mental breakdown? After all, Dean was only human. If he was tortured in Hell for the four months he was gone, then who knows what his psyche went through. This could just be a way he was protecting himself, maybe he was dreaming about happier times, or busty Asian ladies in his sleep. Sam smiled out of the corner of his mouth with the thought, Dean would be really upset if Sam pulled him out of that dream.

But it didn’t seem likely, what seemed more likely was that his mind was finally flooded with everything that happened to him in the pit. That he was trapped in some mental loop of his experiences. Why all this research when it was so obvious? The thought hit Sam like a flash. It wasn't a curse or a witch, or some kind of monster. It wasn’t poison or anything medical. Sam felt so stupid for not having put the pieces together before. He turned the car around and raced back to the motel.

When he opened the door, Bobby raised an eyebrow at him.

‘No food?’

‘No, Bobby, I-I had a thought, I mean I know what the problem is, and I think you do too.’ Sam's words rushed out of him.

‘What is it Sam?’

‘It’s just his memories that flooded his conscious right? We are pouring over lore like we can throw some spell together to wake him up, but that isn’t going to work, he is just stuck. He is-stuck...there....isn’t he?’

Bobby frowned, ‘Seems most likely.’

‘So why didn't you say anything, I mean you knew right? From the time you walked in you knew.’

Sam was a bit angry with the realization. Somewhere in his mind he understood it, but Bobby was just letting Dean suffer without doing anything.

‘Cause it woudln’t’ve made no difference, son. There's nothing we can do if Dean is stuck in his head, we gotta wait until he figures out a way back to us.’

‘But this isn’t some war story that he can’t stop remembering Bobby, its fucking captital-H Hell, the real thing, what if he can’t find a way out!?’

Bobby just looked at him sadly, and shook his head.

‘Sam if we pull him out it could just make things worse, he put himself into this state for a reason, his mind is protecting itself from his own memories, we could do more damage than good if we force him. We just have to wait and see.’

‘Thats not--its just not acceptable. I can’t just leave him in there, who knows what--I mean- when I was researching hell, Bobby…’

‘I know Sam, I know.’ his voice came out soft and defeated.

‘I am going in to help him Bobby.’ He set his face in a determined expression and pulled out the African dream root from his inside jacket pocket.

‘Sam, now wait a minute.’ Sam started to heat water in the coffee pot to make the tea, pulling a few hairs form Dean’s head to add to the cup.’

‘Sam think about this for a minute, like you said, you don’t know what he is experiencing in there. His mind could end up trapping yours as well. Think, you could be walking into the same hell that he was in for months!’

‘I don’t care Bobby, I can’t leave him in there alone!’ Sam did care, his stomach was in knots, his palms were sweating with the fear of what he could find. But he couldn't just sit here and let Dean fight this on his own. He had to go in. There was just no other choice.  

‘Plus, I could do this last time, when I was in Jeremy’s head, I was able to figure out how to control it, remember?’

Sam’s hands shook when he poured the hot water over the twisted little root in the cup, mixing it with his finger.

‘That doesn’t mean its gonna work again Sam.’ Bobby was protesting, but he knew it was a losing argument.

‘Damn you boys and your suicidal need to save each other!’ His face fell, ‘I can't talk you out of this can I?’

Bobby felt defeated. This kind of co-dependence the brothers had was the norm their whole lives. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to get them to stop sacrificing themselves for each other. If they ever did die, it would have to be both of them at the exact same time for it to stick. If one brother had one breath left in him, he would fight to save the other. It was sick, and disgusting, and the truest love Bobby had ever seen. Most people said they loved with words, these boys put their money where there mouths were.

 

‘I am sorry Bobby. Please, just whatever you do, don’t come in after us.’

Sam sat down on the bed and there was a long moment of silence. He tried not to notice how slick and unstable the cup felt in his hand. He tried to push the screaming thoughts away that were telling him not to do this.

Bobby nodded grimly and wiped his hand over his beard. ‘Damn you idjits…’ But it was said with so much love, Sam couldn’t help but smile. He tipped the cup into his mouth and swallowed the concoction in one mouthful.

 

Sam didn’t feel sleepy, he didn’t notice his body falling back into the bed at all, he was just somewhere else all at once.

The wall of pure noise hit him first.

He immediately bent over with his hands over his ears, even closing his eyes in an attempt to keep the sensory overload out.

He took a few short breaths and tried to figure out what it was, taking apart all the small noises that made up the sound.

 

It was screaming.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of people screaming, whimpering, and yelling in pain.

Fear welled up in him and he stopped cold, afraid to open his eyes. This had to be hell. Shit, he was hoping that he would be anywhere else. But now he knew. He felt better about making the decision to come in. He would have hated himself if he had learned Dean was stuck here for any longer. But he was almost crippled by the fear of what he might find.

As the seconds ticked by the sounds were more bearable in volume, but his heart seemed to slow with every new scream.

 

With great reluctance, he opened his eyes. He was standing on a stone floor that seemed to be made up of one giant slab of rock. There were no fissures and no mortar holding pieces together. The light was extremely dim and reddish, but the floor seemed to shimmer slightly like it was damp. Sam raised his eyes and tried to take in his surroundings.

But there was nothing surrounding him, no walls and no ceiling, just a greyish red covering of clouds in all directions, occasionally flashing with sparks of light like a distant thunderstorm.

 

But he didn’t notice all that right away. What he did notice was his brother, suspended in air by chains connected to each limb. A metal hook going through one shoulder, and his face half covered in blood. The expression one of pure anguish and hopelessness.

And the  _thing_   driving a metal rod into Dean’s side. Sam barely knew what to call it, he had seen so many creatures in his life, but nothing ever so horrifying to look at. This thing made a wendigo look like Miss America.

 

It was tall, and almost serpent-like in its movements, sliding from each pose to the next in a mesmerizing way. It was vaguely human shaped, with horns like a ram curling out of both sides of its head, and legs like a satyr, but instead of hooves it had large claws protruding sickly from each misshapen toe. Its arms were huge and muscular, and had hands that looked strong enough to bend metal, yet moved so gracefully it might as well have been playing piano. Its skin was a mix of slick black scales and tufts of matted fur. But the face is what shocked Sam the most. The mouth looked like a bloody split that was cut into its face, and it was smiling hugely with rows and rows of sharp teeth. It’s eyes were so black they didn’t even reflect the flashing lights that pierced the darkness around them.

 

It was a demon.

Without the person suit, the true and horrible face of a demon in hell.

 

Dean’s scream pierced the air and hit Sam like a punch in the gut. The demon continued to stab the metal rod into his gut, and blood flowed freely from dozens of puncture wounds.

 

With a rage he didn’t know he had in him, Sam ran to him and tried to grip one of the chains that was holding his brother. But his hand slipped right through and Sam felt only air. He almost fell over with the wasted momentum. The demon cutting into Dean continued to do so, even while Sam reached out to stop him. He reached right through the demon like he was a ghost.

‘Shit,’ Sam said aloud. This isn't real, none of this was anything he could physically stop, it was just a shadow of a memory.

 

And then he heard another scream from behind him and turned quickly to see the same scene. Another Dean and another demon, but this time the demon was biting chunks of flesh from his brother’s torso. Sam could see Dean’s guts start to spill out of the side of him as he let out a breathless wail.

 

And behind him, another. The demon lighting his brother on fire, chuckling in laughter at Dean’s helpless screaming.

 

When Sam looked around, there were hundreds of this scene being played out. He was watching hundreds, maybe thousands of Deans getting tortured by thousands of demons.

He could smell the smoke in the air, the copper stench of blood, the filth and rot. Sam leaned over and retched, each convulsion of his stomach bringing up bile. When had he last eaten? When did he get here? If this wasn’t real then why was he even able to throw up at all?

 

He closed his eyes and didn’t think he could open them. This was in his brothers mind. This is what Dean dreamed about.

This was what Dean experienced in hell.

Sam didn’t think he could take any more of the screams, hearing his brother so helpless was killing him. Watching all the ways in which he got tortured, Sam couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. He didn’t think he could take his next breath, let alone find a plan and a way to get his brother out of here.

 

It seemed to Sam that Dean’s mind had created some type of loop, a trap in which his experiences in the pit were being played over and over, and all at once. But with so many Deans, how could Sam even find him? Which one was was the real Dean? Did he have to kill every demon, and rescue every mutilated body? He had to find Dean and wake him up! He could hear his brother screaming his name, and his heart broke.

 

Nothing, in all their trials and in all their hunts had been this painful. Dean called out to be saved while he was here. How many times did his calls go unanswered? How could Sam not have saved him? Regret washed over him. He should have tried harder to get Dean back.

 

Sam had to save him this time. He set his jaw with determination, took a deep breath and looked around. He had to find a way. This was his brothers mind, and if anyone could find a way to get through to him, to break him out of this mental spell, it was Sam.

 

Upon closer look there seemed to be some kind of path he was standing on, it wasn’t very clear, but it was a start. Sam looked ahead, and tried not to listen, tried not to see all the sick things that had been done to his brothers body and mind while he was here. He had to remind himself these were just memories. As much as he wished to run to each Dean and slice up the demon attacking him. He made sure to hold out his hand as he walked by, letting it ghost through more of these projections. He tried not to look but it was almost impossible. One of these had to be solid. Something he could fight.

He fought the urge to vomit while he passed demons scooping his brothers eyes out, slicing him open like a fish, pulling off limbs. It seemed this demon had a creativity and skill to torture that was unmatched in the real world. Sam watched as Dean was ripped in half by some type of extremely slow mechanical blade. When his brother hung there dead in two pieces, the torture couldn’t go on, he almost felt a small sense of relief. But then in the blink of an eye, Dean was whole again, like magic. And the demon flicked a tongue over the gash of a mouth, and with that smile, the dead eyes were fixed once more on his brother.

It didn’t end for Dean. He couldn’t even die in this place.  How long was he down here and he couldn't even get a small bit of relief? The seconds ticked by like hours. Sam tried again to focus, but it was so hard with all this noise.

He walked along the path a bit further, feeling weaker with each step. It was like he had run a marathon, the smoke filled air and the heat made him cough and sweat.

 

Then he heard a different scream in the midst of Dean’s layered voice.

It was a woman.

 

Sam picked up the pace and tried to follow the sound of the woman’s screams. He had to stop occasionally to listen, and stepped through image after image of his bloody sibling. His mind tried so hard to block out the views around him. But he had a feeling this would be a part of his nightmares for life.

 

Finally he saw her. She was chained just as the hundreds of Dean’s around her, her abdomen covered in blood, old and new. She could have been a blonde, but it was hard to tell in the flickering light, and with dirt and blood caked in her hair. She was begging the demon in front of her to stop, saying please over and over again until it became a kind of chant.

The demon was also different. All the others seemed like a copy, just as the copies of his brother, but this one was more human looking.

The horns were just starting to poke out of his head, his legs, while misshapen still had mostly human-like feet, and while he did move like a serpent, he still had hair on his head and a normal mouth. His skin was just starting to sprout black scales around his neck and the back of his hands. When he turned to face Sam, he smiled only one row of sharp white teeth.

It was Dean.

 

His eyes flowed from the original green to black, like ink in a pool. And if Sam didn’t get a glimpse of that bright green, he might not have believed that this was his brother.

‘Dean?’ Sam almost whispered, horrified at seeing his brother, mid transformation into a demon.

 

Dean laughed when he saw Sam, a thick guttural laugh that didn’t touch his eyes, and he sniffed the air like a dog.

‘Sammy… fancy seeing you here!’

Sam couldn’t say anything, he just stared at his brother in pure shock. Was this real? Did this happen to him while he was down here? Was this really Dean?

‘I called and called for you when I was up on the rack Sammy, but it seems you are a bit too late now.’ He gestured at all the tortured copies around him, and made a face that was some kind of mockery of sadness.

‘Its ok, you are here for the best part. I have never _enjoyed_ myself so much Sammy.’

He elongated the word ‘enjoy’ to show his pleasure, while he shoved a small knife into the stomach of the already bleeding woman. His inky pool eyes almost rolled into the back of his head when he stabbed her, and there was a moan that escaped him like the purr of a cat. There was no question his brother was enjoying this.

‘Stop--just stop!’ Sam’s voice was breathless and he could feel tears of anger welling up in his eyes.

‘This isn’t you Dean!’

 

Dean laughed again, sliding the knife out while the girl wailed in front of him, more tears renewing clear tracks on her cheeks like a river through the blood.

‘Of course it is Sammy, this is who I always was, I just had to fight it when I was up there,’ He pointed to the sky with his knife.

‘So when Alistair, oh you have met Alistair haven’t you?’ He gestured to the demon that was torturing all the copies of him.

‘When he asked me if I wanted to join him, every day, for years Sammy, I don’t know why it took me so long to finally accept his offer!’

Sam's head reeled at all this information. The demon had a name. The demon asked Dean to join him? Years?

‘Y--Years?’ Tears freely fell down Sam’s face now, his mind frantically trying to keep up with all his thoughts.  

‘Oh you didn’t think your poor brother was down here for just four months did you?’ He laughed again, throwing his head back, his mouth just a bit too wide for a human face.

‘Time, it’s different down here, I was on the rack for 30 years Sammy. Then I finally said yes to my good teacher here and we spent another 10 training before- well before I was pulled away from him.’ He snarled at the memory.

‘Forty….years?’ Sam couldn’t control his face, he almost choked. His body felt like it was being crushed. This had to be a lie, there is no way Dean could have--could he really have been down here for so long?

‘Oh don’t worry Sammy, I had a good time!’ These souls that I get to rip apart, _mmmm_ , I had never been able to let loose like this on Earth.’ He gripped the woman’s hair and pulled it back, exposing her neck to his mouth. She whimpered helplessly, not even noticing Sam standing there.

‘Get away from her!’ Sam pushed Dean away right before his sharp teeth could break the skin on her neck. He was half surprised that Dean was solid. But it gave him a surge of hope.

This was the real Dean down here. He just had to convince this, thing, to wake up, or make him wake up, and they could get out.

Dean just smiled that ghastly smile and flicked his arm, sending a surge of energy into Sam like a wave. This was a demons power. Sam fell, scraping his hands and elbows on the stone floor. He got up slowly, realizing how hard it had become. He didn’t know if it was the smokey air in his lungs or the horrifying revelations he had in the last few minutes of being inside Dean’s head; he felt his world splitting down the middle.

He faced the demon that was once his brother again and tried to make a quick plan in his head, his thoughts feeling sluggish and musty.

‘Dean this isn’t real, this is just a memory, let’s get out of here.’

Dean cocked his head to the side like a dog hearing a whistle.

‘But I like it here Sammy, when I was back up there, it was so _hard_ to suppress what I have become.’

‘Stop-just stop calling me that, its Sam.’ He took a deep breath, trying to steady his head and his words.

‘And this--this isn’t you Dean, whatever they did to you down here, you never liked hurting people.’

‘But didn’t I?’ He looked Sam straight in the eyes, lowering his gaze.’

‘Think about how I always _needed_ the hunt Sammy...You were good, but I _wanted_ it, in a way Dad always wanted it, but my fuel wasn't revenge, it was the kill, you know that is true.’

Sam’s head reeled, he knew this thing-that-was-not-his-brother was telling the truth, but he had to remind himself that demons lied. They twisted the truth to manipulate. He knew Dean had always been just a bit too over enthusiastic about the killing. Sometimes, there was a small joy in Dean’s eyes when he killed a monster that scared Sam. But those were monsters, his brother was not a killer, he did not enjoy torturing.

His heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest, blood dripped down his arm from his scraped elbow.

He realized he might not be able to convince this thing to wake Dean up, even if it had the power to do so. He knew he didn’t have much time before the thing realized that Sam was a walking talking new target for him to place on the rack when he was sick of that woman. He also knew that if he died in here, he wouldn't be magically coming back to life. He closed his eyes and tried to think. Dean saw that he was trying to compose himself and continued.

‘That is why when I got down here, a part of me felt like this was the right place. Alistair was right, I deserved this, and I knew it too. You know he chose me especially, he is the chief down here, the granddaddy of them all, and he chose _me_. Well, I didn’t feel so special at first with all the--ripping and the tearing. You can see can’t you, look around at all the things they did to me. Looking back I don’t know why I was so stubborn to accept his offer, he knew I would eventually, I always wanted to get off that rack, I always wanted to do just this.’

‘So what happened? I mean, you obviously didn’t make it to full blown demon-hood, how did you get out?’

Sam was just biding time, his mind was racing and he knew he needed to compose himself. Might as well learn more information while he was doing so. He thought he heard the faint sound of beating wings far away.

‘Ooh aren’t you the nosy one.’ Dean stepped toward Sam and Sam stepped back. But he noticed something in his eyes, a hate and fear when Sam mentioned how he got out. He filed the information away for later.

‘Now, let’s start having some fun shall we, Sammy?’

Sam was suddenly pulled up by a force of wind and he could feel the chains wrap around each limb. His mind flashed to all the torture he saw Dean go through and his blood went cold. 

Dean’s laugh was mirthful and light this time, with a snarl behind it like something inside him was growing.

Sam held his breath, and closed his eyes, feeling the chains tighten slightly on his wrists and ankles.

‘This is, just where I want you Sammy.’ The slight purr in his voice sent shivers through Sam’s whole body.

He had to get out. The thought just repeated in his mind for a second before he heard the ting of metal. Some instrument that Dean surely meant to use on his little brother. Fear coursed through him, but then--he figured it out. It was like a light went on in his mind all at once.

 

He had controlled Jeremy Frost’s dream. So he knew he could do it.

Dean also knew he could do it.

From the second he came to this place, it had all just been a giant distraction so he couldn't focus, so he couldn’t change the dream. Dean’s mind was fighting against him in the only way he knew how.

Sam opened his eyes and started small, he focused on the knife in Dean’s hand. He shut everything else out and just tried to see it. He focused on the grip on the handle, the blood covering its blade, even the way the flickering light shone off the tip.

Dean had a quizzical look on his face and looked down at the blade, only to see his empty hand.

Sam was elated, it was a small start but if he could stay focused, he knew he had the power inside of him to bring this whole place down.

Dean lunged with a snarl and connected his fist to Sam’s face. There was a shock of pain as his head rocked to the side, and before comprehending what had happened, he felt more blows to his face and abdomen.

 

The game was up, Dean knew Sam was starting to get control and he would distract him for as long as possible, or even kill him before Sam could do any more damage to his dream world.

 

Sam’s only thought was pain for a long moment while the blows rained down on him. His body felt like a bag of sand when Dean finally took a breath, like there were no bones holding him together anymore.

 

There was screaming in his ears and he realized it had been his own screams, wrenched from him with every new hit. He took a breath and time slowed.

 

Dean’s mouth opened unnaturally wide and was going for his throat. He wasn’t about to let Sam live for another second, even if getting to pound on him was giving him so much pleasure.

Sam took the time to notice every sharp tooth, seeing the small rows starting to grow in behind his original set. The lightning flickered so slowly the whole world was illuminated for seconds while Sam looked into the inky black pools that were his brother’s eyes. It was like staring into the abyss; no light shone, not even a reflection, just a wide empty space of nothing where his brother’s soul used to be. Sam focused on those eyes, on those teeth and pushed his will out like a wall in front of him, protecting his body from the oncoming assault.

 

Then, Dean was standing before him.

Just his brother. Without the black eyes or the misshapen limbs or the growing horns. It was just Dean. Wearing clothes he always wore, standing like he always stood.

 

‘Sammy?’ He whispered, baffled, like he didn’t remember what was going on. Then he cringed when saw how Sam was strung up and the look on his face was pure pain.

‘No, nonono..’ He shook his head like he was trying to get the vision out of his mind.

‘Hold on one second Dean.’ Sam focused on the chains, willing them to disappear. He felt a click in his mind when it happened, feeling the process getting easier.

Dean was clutching his hands to his head and his knees gave out on him. Sam grabbed him and held him up before he hit the stone floor.

‘You can’t be here Sam, you can’t. What--what they will do to you, I can’t--no I just can’t let them Sammy.’

‘It’s ok Dean, it’s ok this isn’t real, it’s all in your head. Dean, listen to me, this _isn’t_ real.’

Sam held his brother while he shook, half sobbing and just repeating ‘no’ over and over.

‘Dean! Dean look at me! Look at me, this is not real, we are in your dream Dean.’

He stopped chanting and looked at his brother quizzically.

‘This isn’t real?’

‘No! We are in your head Dean, you had some kind of mental break and you won’t wake up. I came in here to find you.’

Sam could see the wheels turning inside Dean’s head. Fighting between wanting what Sam said to be the truth and knowing the lies of the place he believed he was in.

‘Wake up Dean!’ Sam shook his shoulders while he said it.

‘Wake up! Wake up!’ He started yelling in Dean’s face, desperate to get through to him.

‘Wake up Dean! Dean!’

 

 

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the motel ceiling. Then he saw Bobby getting up from the desk, relief in his eyes.

Sam immediately sat up and threw up all over himself, beer and bile making their way down the front of his shirt. He ran to the bathroom on shaky legs, and finished throwing up in the small motel room toilet. He vaguely thought about how long they had been there, tried to piece the time together. How long had he been out? The whole thing was too much for him, he couldn't process.

He emptied his stomach in the toilet, but it was mostly bile that came up. He was trying not to think about all the things he had learned in Dean’s head. When he did his stomach convulsed. For right now, he just packed it all away, he had to make sure Dean was ok. When his body started cooperating he stripped off his shirt and washed out his mouth in the little sink. He saw the bruises on his stomach, leftover remnants from the dream world that made their way to reality. He hastily put on a new shirt before leaving the bathroom.

 

‘Dean?’ He called his brother’s name before he was even finished opening the door.

‘I’m here.’ The words slurred, and sounded exhausted.

He was trying to sit up in the single bed, the sheets wrinkled and sweat covered underneath him.

‘No, no, stay down for a second boy, let me check you out.’

‘Bobby?’ Dean seemed confused, but listened while Bobby checked over him. The older man raised an eyebrow to Sam to ask if he was ok, and Sam nodded in confirmation.

‘Glad you boys are back in the land of the living.’ Bobby didn’t ask what happened, he didn’t even look curious, he just grabbed Dean some water and made him drink, then told them he was going for some food to give them some time to compose themselves. It took a long time. Dean slowly pulling himself up to a sitting position, and Sam picking up some of the books, then sitting on the bed and just breathing. He didn’t think he could talk, didn’t think any words would come out. Dean was right when he said it last month, there were no words for what he experienced. And now Sam had gotten a front row seat to the carnage that happened to his brother for decades. The thought almost made him run back into the bathroom, but his stomach realized quickly there was nothing left to throw up.

Dean grabbed his hand in a sudden and fierce grip, and Sam almost pulled away in shock.

‘I am so sorry Sammy.’

Dean looked him in the eyes, brazenly hurting and in despair.

Sam just shook his head, dismissing the apology with that he hoped was a ‘you would have done the same’ expression, mixed with a 'please don't worry.' He knew his brother would get it, he always did.

 

They just sat for a long time, listening to the crickets chirp in the night, the cars passing by in waves on the nearby highway. Bobby returned quietly and forced them both to eat a sandwich. It had been more than 2 days since either brother had a real meal. Then they all sat down and tried to relax. Not saying anything.

Dean lay back on the bed and his breathing evened, falling slowly into actual sleep. When he started to lightly snore Sam finally relaxed his shoulders, feeling for the first time in months that just for this moment, his brother was safe. Bobby had long since finished another beer and was nonchalantly flipping through some of the lore books. Somehow giving Sam a sense of being alone, but comforted by his presence nonetheless. Sam finally stood up and stretched, then grabbed a pack of Bobby’s cigarettes and quietly opened the front door.

‘You got a light?’ His voice was a horse whisper.

They both knew it was an invitation for Bobby to join him, and the older man sat up slowly and looked back at Dean’s sleeping form before slipping outside.

 

Sam closed the door gingerly and put his hands on the railing, then tapped the cigarette pack like he had been a smoker for years. Even though this was, at most, an occasional treat, one which he tried to stop.

‘He gonna be ok?’ It was Bobby’s way of asking what happened, without asking if Sam didn’t want to share. For the gruff and curt man that he was, Bobby was a master of human interaction, it came with the job.

 

Sam put a cigarette in his mouth and gestured with his chin for Bobby to light it. This routine was much more familiar than Dean would have guessed. It was a way they bonded, usually in painful moments, usually to talk about Dean himself.

 

‘It wasn’t four months Bobby. I mean,' his voice shook as he said the words, 'he wasn’t down there for 4 months…. It was more like 40 years.’

He could feel Bobby’s eyes grow wide at him, but he couldn’t meet them.

He took one shaky drag of the cigarette and when he blew out the smoke, tears came to eyes.

‘How could he, he lasted a lifetime Bobby... He was tortured for 30 of those years. That is-thats longer than he was even alive on Earth... How could he have lasted that long? He must be broken beyond anything we have ever seen. And he was just, trying to move on, trying to hunt? Live life like it was before? There are no words for how messed up he must be…. I--I saw Bobby.’ He started choking on his words, holding back sobs in his chest like he was holding back the sea.

‘I saw what they did to him, every single day, every single second for decades… What that must have done to him...’ His eyes grew wide in remembered horror. Barely even noticing Bobby standing next to him anymore.

‘Sam,’ When Bobby said his name he already dreaded the question that was coming, already dreaded having to say the words out loud. Bobby was quick, he did the math.

‘What happened for the last 10 years?’

 

‘God, Bobby, he--he started to become one of them.’ Sam was fully crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks like small rivers.

‘He made a deal, to get off the rack if he started torturing souls.’ Sam could barely breathe.

‘What he became, or, or what he almost became, I saw it…. I saw my brother almost become one of them. And he---god Bobby he loved it. I have never seen him so happy, so peaceful as when he was cutting into-’ He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

‘What is he now?’ He finally faced Bobby, letting all the pain and anguish wash over him. He didn’t have to be strong for his uncle. This is the man that knew him since he was small, that bandaged his scraped knees, that held him when his dad left.

‘Listen here boy,’ Bobby’s expression was a mirror of his own, holding back the tears with grim determination.

‘That there, in that room is your brother.’ He waved a hand at the door behind them.

‘You hear me? That is your brother in there and nothing else. Whatever he was down there, he is human here on the surface, and he needs you.’ Bobby's voice was fierce and firm. 

Sam nodded and looked ahead, letting Bobby’s words wash over him. Bobby was so sure. He had to hold onto that.

And he was right, they did all the tests when Dean came back, he was 100% human. But the words of the demon still stuck in his head. Was Dean really a killer at heart? What would he have done with his life if there hadn’t been hunting? Could he have really turned into some kind of monster? As much as Sam wanted to dismiss the thought, there was some truth in the violence behind his brother’s eyes.

But he couldn't think about that now. Right now he had to find a way to help Dean heal. He was so broken. More so than he had ever been, more so than Sam had ever been. How could he possibly even start to heal the hurt that Dean was facing? The guilt and shame alone must be overwhelming, let alone all the flashbacks and full blown PTSD of all the torture. No wonder the dreams were so bad. No wonder he couldn’t stay sober.

Sam stamped out the better half of the cigarette and walked quietly back inside. He removed his shoes and socks mechanically, then crawled into the double bed with his brother.

He wrapped his arms around Dean’s torso and held him tight, feeling his chest rise and fall, and the slow beat of his heart. They hadn’t slept like this since they were kids, but somehow Sam knew that tonight, he wouldn't mind at all. He heard Bobby pack up the books and then settle into the other motel bed. They both knew that they would all be heading to his place tomorrow to take a much needed break.

Dean’s soft snore was loud in Sam’s ear and soon, each of his brother’s breaths became his whole world and he drifted quietly to a dreamless sleep.

 


End file.
